Mayor Vera Katz. Not once but twice in the last six months her Honor has been on the six o'clock news, riding around in a police car, presumably to show the citizens she is a tough, crime-fighting Mayor of the People. OK, one gets used to and even expects these little stage-managed puff-ball media vignettes from all politicians. The rub comes at watching Vera on both occasions standing on a sidewalk next to a police officer, yelling out to two passerby "YOU'RE NOT SELLING YOUR DRUGS OUT HERE ARE YOU?." This behavior seems proof she's already been offered some, and her question was designed to find out if further quantities were available.

The look on the cop's face indicated that, given a choice between shooting the drug dealers or the mayor, he'd have to flip a coin.

Willamette Week. A nasty little weekly fish-wrapper. It's supposedly the BOLD, INDEPENDENT newspaper, going where no daily paper ever goes. Which usually means straight to the toilet. You know the kind of paper if you travel to large cities: Supposedly independent, it's uniformly anti-corporation, anti-police, anti-mainstream, anti-government. Hey, all this is just fine if you like it - just be up front about it and quit pretending to occupy the high moral ground. Any musical group that has a following of more than 30 people won't get any ink in this rag. The only good reviews are for bands that have the most offensive names and sound like a cat being strangled with piano wire. Bands that no one cares about, and won't be around for next week's edition.

Personal Ads. I know, they're the same everywhere, but I have to see them here. Ladies, here's a hint: If you can find a man who says he likes "long walks on the beach, candlelight dinners, and theater" and who, furthermore, is "tall, honest, financially independent, mature, caring and likes kids" and, moreover, is "fit, a non-smoker or drinker, and is into being friends first", he's either:

1. Lying 2. Married 3. Gay 4. A Serial Killer. 5. A woman dressed like a man. 6. A Promise Keeper. 7. Non compos mentis. My recommendation: Go with the one that's gay. They'll treat you better.

Guys: What are you thinking? You don't want to meet the kind of people who would be attracted by your ads.

Pot Petitioners. These scrofulous toads are mainly found on Hawthorne Blvd., bearding hapless pedestrians to sign petitions leading to legalization of maryjane. I suspect they're paid in joints, as I haven't seen one yet who isn't greased to the eyeballs. The world is going downhill, millions are starving, there's work to be done. Has Mother Theresa taught us nothing? Our most precious asset is time. And yet, what 'cause' do these people spend their free time championing? First, you can get pot anywhere and, Second, isn't that supposed to be half the fun? Focus for one moment, Cheech: If pot were legal, the tres chic factor would go right out of it, and you and your joint would be just another bum sucking on a short dog of Night Train instead of playing Rebel Without a Clue. Smoke this, loser.

Sunny Kobe Cook, a.k.a. Sleep Country USA. Sunny, those mattresses were $99 last month, they're $99 this month, and they'll be $99 next month and next year, if you're still in business. Stop it this instant.

Water sports on the Willamette. "If you like drinking pee - water ski !! " ought to be the slogan for boats used on this toilet bowl. There's no accounting for taste, though, as evidenced by the legions of yacht monkeys and muscle boat jerkoffs that descend on this churning cesspool each weekend. These boat drivers are the same ones who cut you off in traffic, drive drunk, and do their makeup while eating breakfast at 80 mph. They plow through the water like Mr. Magoo on steroids, mowing down anything in their path, hoisting their tenth microbrew in one hand while using the other to give the finger to their drowning victims. The only good to come out of this is the occasional crash between a penis-boat and a reckless teenager on a jet ski (yes, I know, that's redundant...). And, it's the only good reason to cheer the constant dumping of raw sewage, paper-mill chemicals, and who-knows-what-else into this river. Perhaps when little Jason and Adam get through water skiing and begin mutating, they'll start glowing, grow flippers and play goalie at night soccer games.

Convenience Crap. It's not all convenience stores that piss me off, just the ones that proudly carry the following items in plain view: 1. Crack pipes on key chains. 2. XXX-rated films and magazines devoted to (I'm not kidding) lactating biker women. 3. Sub-Tijuana quality sort-of- switchblades. "Anything else, ma'am?" ...... "Why yes, I'll take two crack pipes to go with this $4.00 candy bar."

Storm (Snow, ice, wind, dog poop, etc.)Watch on New Center Six Tonight!! Your imminent, biblical-disaster early warning station!! I was pleased to see Mad TV do a few bits on the shameless Chicken Little klaxon horns local TV stations become at the first rumor of snow, thunder, a mouse, and on and on. Grim news-readers are stationed around town in storm gear, stentorian voices warning people to "stay indoors" and "if you must go out, BE CAREFUL". You look outside, expecting to see the farmhouse spinning into a Kansas sky and see - absolutely nothing. In fact, if you want a 100% guarantee of perfect picnic weather, put on your swimsuit and grease up with tan oil at the first disaster warning. The only time a natural disaster hits is when these bozos know nothing about it.